The Battle of the Labyrinth pjato-4 Page 8

  “Last night,” I said, “I dreamed about Luke and Kronos.” I told him the details. The news seemed to weigh on his shoulders.

  “I feared this,” Chiron said. “Against my father, Kronos, we would stand no chance in a fight.”

  Chiron rarely called Kronos his father. I mean, we all knew it was true. Everybody in the Greek world—god, monster, or Titan—was related to one another somehow. But it wasn’t exactly something Chiron liked to brag about. Oh, my dad is the all-powerful evil Titan lord who wants to destroy Western Civilization. I want to be just like him when I grow up!

  “Do you know what he meant about a bargain?” I asked.

  “I am not sure, but I fear they seek to make a deal with Daedalus. If the old inventor is truly alive, if he has not been driven insane by millennia in the Labyrinth…well, Kronos can find ways to twist anyone to his will.”

  “Not anyone,” I promised.

  Chiron managed a smile. “No. Perhaps not anyone. But, Percy, you must beware. I have worried for some time that Kronos may be looking for Daedalus for a different reason, not just passage through the maze.”

  “What else would he want?”

  “Something Annabeth and I were discussing. Do you remember what you told me about your first trip to the Princess Andromeda, the first time you saw the golden coffin?”

  I nodded. “Luke was taking about raising Kronos, little pieces of him appearing in the coffin every time someone new joined his cause.”

  “And what did Luke say they would do when Kronos had risen completely?”

  A chill went down my spine. “He said they would make Kronos a new body, worthy of the forges of Hephaestus.”

  “Indeed,” Chiron said. “Daedalus was the world’s greatest inventor. He created

  the

  Labyrinth,

  but

  much

  more.

  Automatons,

  thinking

  machines…What if Kronos wishes Daedalus to make him a new form?”

  That was a real pleasant thought.

  “We’ve got to get to Daedalus first,” I said, “and convince him not to.”

  Chiron stared off into the trees. “One other thing I do not understand…this talk of a last soul joining their cause. That does not bode well.”

  I kept my mouth shut, but I felt guilty. I’d made the decision not to tell Chiron about Nico being a son of Hades. The mention of souls, though—

  What if Kronos knew about Nico? What if he managed to turn him evil? It was almost enough to make me want to tell Chiron, but I didn’t. for one thing, I wasn’t sure Chiron could do anything about it. I had to find Nico myself. I had to explain things to him, make him listen.

  “I don’t know,” I said at last. “But, uh, something Juniper said, maybe you should hear.” I told him how the tree nymph had seen Quintus poking around the rocks.

  Chiron’s jaw tightened. “That does not surprise me.”

  “It doesn’t sur—you mean you know?”

  “Percy, when Quintus showed up at camp offering his services…well, I would have to be a fool not to be suspicious.”

  “Then why did you let him in?”

  “Because sometimes it is better to have someone you mistrust close to you, so that you can keep an eye on him. He may be just what he says: a halfblood in search of a home. Certainly he has done nothing openly that would make me question his loyalty. But believe me. I will keep an eye—”

  Annabeth trudged over, probably curious why we were taking so long.

  “Percy, you ready?”

  I nodded. My hand slipped into my pocket, where I kept the ice whistle Quintus had given me. I looked over and saw Quintus watching me carefully. He raised his hand in farewell.

  Our spies report success, Luke had said. The same day we decided to send a quest, Luke had known about it.

  “Take care,” Chiron told us. “And good hunting.”

  “You too,” I said.

  We walked over to the rocks, where Tyson and Grover were waiting. I stared at the crack between the boulders—the entrance that was about to swallow us.

  “Well,” Grover said nervously, “good-bye sunshine.”

  “Hello rocks,” Tyson agreed.

  And together, the four of us descended into darkness.

  SIX

  WE MEET THE GOD WITH TWO FACES

  We made it a hundred feet before we were hopelessly lost. The tunnel looked nothing like the one Annabeth and I had stumbled into before. Now it was round like a sewer, constructed of red brick with ironbarred portholes ever ten feet. I shined a light through one of the portholes out of curiosity, but I couldn’t see anything. It opened into infinite darkness. I thought I heard voices on the other side, but it may have been just the cold wind.

  Annabeth tried her best to guide us. She had this idea that we should stick to the left wall.

  “If we keep one hand on the left wall and follow it,” she said, “we should be able to find our way out again by reversing course.”

  Unfortunately, as soon as she said that, the left wall disappeared. We found ourselves in the middle of a circular chamber with eight tunnels leading out, and no idea how we’d gotten there.

  “Um, which way did we come in?” Grover said nervously.

  “Just turn around,” Annabeth said.

  We each turned toward a different tunnel. It was ridiculous. None of us could decide which way led back to camp.

  “Left walls are mean,” Tyson said. “Which way now?”

  Annabeth swept her flashlight beam over the archways of the eight tunnels. As far as I could tell, they were identical. “That way,” she said.

  “How do you know?” I asked.

  “Deductive reasoning.”

  “So…you’re guessing.”

  “Just come on,” she said.

  The tunnel she’d chosen narrowed quickly. The walls turned to gray cement, and the ceiling got so low that pretty soon we were hunching over. Tyson was forced to crawl.

  Grover’s hyperventilating was the loudest noise in the maze. “I can’t stand it anymore,” he whispered. “Are we there yet?”

  “We’ve been down here maybe five minutes,” Annabeth told him.

  “It’s been longer than that,” Grover insisted. “And why would Pan be down here? This is the opposite of the wild!”

  We kept shuffling forward. Just when I was sure the tunnel would get so narrow it would squish us, it opened into a huge room. I shined my light around the walls and said, “Whoa.”

  The whole room was covered in mosaic tiles. The pictures were grimy and faded, but I could still make out the colors—red, blue, green, gold. The frieze showed the Olympian gods at a feast. There was my dad, Poseidon, with his trident, holding out grapes for Dionysus to turn into wine. Zeus was partying with satyrs, and Hermes was flying through the air on his winged sandals. The pictures were beautiful, but they weren’t very accurate. I’d seen the gods. Dionysus was not that handsome, and Hermes’s nose wasn’t that big.

  In the middle of the room was a three-tiered fountain. It looked like it hadn’t held water in a long time.

  “What is this place?” I muttered. “It looks—”

  “Roman,” Annabeth said. “Those mosaics area bout two thousand years old.”

  “But how can they be Roman?” I wasn’t that great on ancient history, but I was pretty sure the Roman Empire never made it as far as Long Island.

  “The Labyrinth is a patchwork,” Annabeth said. “I told you, it’s always expanding, adding pieces. It’s the only work of architecture that grows by itself.”

  “You make it sound like it’s alive.”

  A groaning noise echoed from the tunnel in front of us.

  “Let’s not talk about it being alive,” Grover whimpered. “Please?”

  “All right,” Annabeth said. “Forward.”

  “Down the hall with the bad sounds?” Tyson said. Even he looked nervous.

  “Yeah,” Annabeth s
aid. “The architecture is getting older. That’s a good sign. Daedalus’s workshop would be in the oldest part.”

  That made sense. But soon the maze was toying with us—we went fifty feet and the tunnel turned back to cement, with brass pipes running down the sides. The walls were spray-painted with graffiti. A neon tagger sign read MOZ RULZ.

  “I’m thinking this is not Roman,” I said helpfully.

  Annabeth took a deep breath, then forged ahead.

  Every few feet the tunnels twisted and turned and branched off. The floor beneath us changed from cement to mud to bricks and back again. There was no sense to any of it. We stumbled into a wince cellar—a bunch of dusty bottles in wooden racks—like we were walking through somebody’s basement, only there was no exit above us, just more tunnels leading on. Later the ceiling turned to wooden planks, and I could hear voices above us and the creaking of footsteps, as if we were walking under some kind of bar. It was reassuring to hear people, but then again, we couldn’t get to them. We were stuck down here with no way out. Then we found our first skeleton. He was dressed in white clothes, like some kind of uniform. A wooden crate of glass bottles sat next to him.

  “A milkman,” Annabeth said.

  “What?” I asked.

  “They used to deliver milk.”

  “Yeah, I know what they are, but…that was when my mom was little, like a million years ago. What’s he doing here?”

  “Some people wander in by mistake,” Annabeth said. “Some come exploring on purpose and never make it back. A long time ago, the Cretans sent people in here as human sacrifices.”

  Grover gulped. “He’s been down here a long time.” He pointed to the skeleton’s bottles, which were coated with white dust. The skeleton’s fingers were clawing at the brick wall, like he had died trying to get out.

  “Only bones,” Tyson said. “Don’t worry, goat boy. The milkman is dead.”

  “The milkman doesn’t bother me,” Grover said. “It’s the smell. Monsters. Can’t you smell it?”

  Tyson nodded. “Lots of monsters. But underground smells like that. Monsters and dead milk people.”

  “Oh, good,” Grover whimpered. “I thought maybe I was wrong.”

  “We have to get deeper into the maze,” Annabeth said. “There has to be a way to the center.”

  She led us to the right, then the left, through a corridor of stainless steel like some kind of air shaft, and we arrived back in the Roman tile room with the fountain.

  This time, we weren’t alone.

  * * *

  What I noticed first were his faces. Both of them. They jutted out from either side of his head, staring over his shoulders, so his head was much wider than it should’ve been, kind of like a hammerhead shark’s looking straight at him, all I saw were two overlapping ears and mirror-image sideburns.

  He was dressed like a New York City doorman: a long black overcoat, shiny shoes, and a black top-hat that somehow managed to stay on his double-wide head.

  “Well, Annabeth?” said his left face. “Hurry up!”

  “Don’t mind him,” said the right face. “He’s terribly rude. Right this way, miss.”

  Annabeth’s jaw dropped. “Uh…I don’t…”

  Tyson frowned. “That funny man has two faces.”

  “The funny man has ears, you know!” the left face scolded. “Now come along, miss.”

  “No, no,” the right face said. “This way, miss. Talk to me, please.”

  The two-faced man regarded Annabeth as best he could out of the corners of his eyes. It was impossible to look at him straight on without focusing on one side or the other. And suddenly I realized that’s what he was asking—he wanted Annabeth to choose.

  Behind him were two exits, blocked by wooden doors with huge iron locks. They hadn’t been there our first time through the room. The two-faced doorman held a silver key, which he kept passing from his left hand to his right hand. I wondered if this was a different room completely, but the frieze of the gods looked exactly the same.

  Behind us, the doorway we’d come through had disappeared, replaced by more mosaics. We wouldn’t be going back the way we came.

  “The exits are closed,” Annabeth said.

  “Duh!” the man’s left face said.

  “Where do they lead?” she asked.

  “One probably leads the way you wish to go,” the right face said encouragingly. “The other leads to certain death.”

  “I—I know who you are,” Annabeth said.

  “Oh, you’re a smart one!” The left face sneered. “But do you know which way to choose? I don’t have all day.”

  “Why are you trying to confuse me?” Annabeth asked.

  The right face smiled. “You’re in charge now, my dear. All the decisions are on your shoulders. That’s what you wanted, isn’t it?”

  “I—”

  “We know you, Annabeth,” the left face said. “We know what you wrestle with every day. We know your indecision. You will have to make your choice sooner or later. And the choice may kill you.”

  I didn’t know what they were talking about, but it sounded like it was about more than a choice between doors.

  The color drained out of Annabeth’s face. “No…I don’t—”

  “Leave her alone,” I said. “Who are you, anyway?”

  “I’m your best friend,” the right face said.

  “I’m your worst enemy,” the left face said.

  “I’m Janus,” both faces said in harmony. “God of Doorways. Beginnings. Endings. Choices.”

  “I’ll see you soon enough, Perseus Jackson,” said the right face. “But for now it’s Annabeth’s turn.” He laughed giddily. “Such fun!”

  “Shut up!” his left face said. “This is serious. One bad choice can ruin your whole life. It can kill you and all of your friends. But no pressure, Annabeth. Choose!”

  With a sudden chill, I remembered the words of the prophecy: the child of Athena’s final stand.

  “Don’t do it,” I said.

  “I’m afraid she has to,” the right face said cheerfully.

  Annabeth moistened her lips. “I—I chose—”

  Before she could point to a door, a brilliant light flooded the room. Janus raised his hands to either side of his head to cover his eyes. When the light died, a woman was standing at the fountain.

  She was tall and graceful with long hair the color of chocolate, braided in plaits with gold ribbons. She wore a simple white dress, but when she moved, the fabric shimmered with colors like oil on water.

  “Janus,” she said, “are we causing trouble again?”

  “N-no, milady!” Janus’s right face stammered.

  “Yes!” the left face said.

  “Shut up!” the right face said.

  “Excuse me?” the woman asked.

  “Not you, milady! I was talking to myself.”

  “I see,” the lady said. “You know very well your visit is premature. The girl’s time has not yet come. So I give you a choice: leave these heroes to me, or I shall turn you into a door and break you down.”

  “What kind of door?” the left face asked.

  “Shut up!” the right face said.

  “Because French doors are nice,” the left face mused. “Lots of natural light.”

  “Shut up!” the right face wailed. “Not you, milady! Of course I’ll leave. I was just having a bit of fun. Doing my job. Offering choices.”

  “Causing indecision,” the woman corrected. “Now be gone!”

  The left face muttered, “Party power,” then he raised his silver key, inserted it into the air, and disappeared.

  The woman turned toward us, and fear closed around my heart. Her eyes shined with power. Leave these heroes to me. That didn’t sound good. For a second, I almost wished we could’ve taken our chances with Janus. But then the woman smiled.

  “You must be hungry,” she said. “Sit with me and talk.”

  She waved her hand, and the old Roman fountain bega
n to flow. Jets of clear water sprayed into the air. A marble table appeared, laden with platters of sandwiches and pitchers of lemonade.

  “Who…who are you?” I asked.

  “I am Hera.” The woman smiled. “Queen of Heaven.”

  * * *

  I’d seen Hera once before at a Council of the Gods, but I hadn’t paid much attention to her. At the time I’d been surrounded by a bunch of other gods who were debating whether or not to kill me.

  I didn’t remember her looking so normal. Of course, gods are usually twenty feet tall when they’re on Olympus, so that makes them look a lot less normal. But now, Hera looked like a regular mom.

  She served us sandwiches and poured lemonade.

  “Grover, dear,” she said, “use your napkin. Don’t eat it.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” Grover said.

  “Tyson, you’re wasting away. Would you like another peanut butter sandwich?”

  Tyson stifled a belch. “Yes, nice lady.”

  “Queen Hera,” Annabeth said. “I can’t believe it. What are you doing in the Labyrinth?”

  Hera smiled. She flicked one finger and Annabeth’s hair combed itself. All the dirt and grime disappeared from her face.

  “I came to see you, naturally,” the goddess said.

  Grover and I exchanged nervous looks. Usually when the gods come looking for you, it’s not out of the goodness of their hearts. It’s because they want something.

  Still, that didn’t keep me from chowing down on turkey-and-Swiss sandwiches and chips and lemonade. I hadn’t realized how hungry I was. Tyson was inhaling one peanut butter sandwich after another, and Grover was loving the lemonade, crunching the Styrofoam cup like an ice-cream cone.

  “I didn’t think—” Annabeth faltered. “Well, I didn’t think you liked heroes.”

  Hera smiled indulgently. “Because of that little spat I had with Hercules?

  Honestly, I got so much bad press because of one disagreement.”

  “Didn’t you try to kill him, like, a lot of times?” Annabeth asked. Hera waved her hand dismissively. “Water under the bridge, my dear. Besides, he was one of my loving husband’s children by another woman. My patience wore thin, I’ll admit it. But Zeus and I have had some excellent marriage counseling sessions since then. We’ve aired our feelings and come to an understanding—especially after that last little incident.”